Without a Trace
by Fear-Of-The-Cold
Summary: Sometimes, the deepest marks are the ones that don't leave any trace behind. The Heroes struggle to help Carter overcome painful memories from a Gestapo encounter.


"That's not good enough!"

Hogan yelled, his anger at everything becoming apparent in one short outburst. Deep down he immediately regretted it, but he couldn't help himself. He was beyond worried now, he was scared. And as much as he tried to control himself, he was also starting to panic. It had been three days since Carter had disappeared, and they still didn't have half a clue where he was.

"Sorry, sir," Kinch looked dejectedly at the floor.

Hogan sighed. He needed to control his temper. It wasn't Kinch's fault, and it wasn't the Underground's either. Sometimes there was just nothing they could do.

"No Kinch, I'm sorry," Hogan apologized, "I'm just worried about him. You would think that between the Underground, Klink's guards and us, we'd be able to find at least a trace of where he is."

Kinch nodded understanding. They were all worried about Carter, but Kinch knew Hogan blamed himself for it. He didn't send any of them out solo very often, and Carter almost never. But the mission had been so straightforward that they hadn't thought it necessary to send two men out. All Carter had to do was pick up a small supplies drop from London, and return to camp. He had set out after evening roll call three days past and hadn't been seen or heard from since.

"C'mon Kinch," Hogan gestured towards the barracks, "I suppose we had better tell the others."

Both men winced in anticipation. Neither was looking forward to the reactions of Newkirk and LeBeau. Both would run to the entrance eager and hopeful. Then Hogan would speak and all hell would break loose. LeBeau would be cursing in French and stomping all over the barracks. Newkirk would storm out and more than likely go pick a fight just so he could release some frustration.

Tensions were high in Stalag 13 at the moment. Klink was angry about the supposed escape story they had fed him, Schultz was in a constant state of terror of being sent to the Russian front, and everyone else was just terrified about Carter. The worst part was that he had left nothing behind. Each of them had combed all through the woods and found nothing. The only thing they knew was that he hadn't made it to the drop point, because the plane didn't receive the "OK" signal and had returned to London with the supplies.

Hogan and Kinch clambered out of the tunnel, and told the news to the men waiting there. They reacted exactly as anticipated, and Hogan had to yell so that his order for quiet was heard.

"I know how you all feel," he attempted to calm them down, but he could tell that LeBeau was not the only one fuming, "But the Underground is doing their best. Something will turn up eventually. Just-just hold in there ok?"

Most of the men nodded sullenly and returned to what they had been doing. LeBeau stalked over to the stove, muttering under his breath as he continued making coffee. Hogan sighed, he had hoped to have better news for them.

"Kinch," he turned to his second and gestured at the swinging door that Newkirk had left open in his hurry to leave, "Go after him will ya? Make sure he doesn't cause any trouble."

"Sure thing Colonel," Kinch nodded.

Knowing that, for now at least, everything was under control, Hogan headed to his office. He needed to think. There had to be something he could do, there just had to be. He just needed to think.

88888888

Newkirk stalked across the compound, glaring at any man who met his eyes. A few narrowed their gaze in annoyance, but to his displeasure none rose to the bait. Even though he knew it would get him thrown in the cooler, all he wanted right now was a good fight. He wanted to lash out in anger, to punch in frustration, to do anything but just to act. Sitting there doing nothing while Carter was out there alone, maybe being tortured, was worse than anything he could imagine.

As he continued his march, a burly American sergeant suddenly caught his eye. His brain told him to drop his gaze, that this huge mountain of a man would clobber him in five seconds. Naturally his stubborn determination wouldn't have that, and he glared back until he was standing nose to nose with the other man.

"Got a problem?" the other man, whose name, Newkirk now recalled, was Crowley, said menacingly.

"Yeah I do actually," Newkirk didn't back down under Crowley's fierce stare.

"Oh really? And what might that be?" Crowley taunted him.

"Guess I just don't like big ugly Yanks lookin' at me funny."

Evidently Crowley was a man on a short fuse, as his face twisted in anger and he pulled a fist back to throw a punch. Newkirk, however, had his hands clenched in anticipation, and prepared to fight back. Just then, before either had a chance to act, a voice called out across the camp.

"Newkirk! Crowley!"

Both turned to see Kinch striding towards them, intent on stopping the fight before it started. Newkirk's fists dropped back to his sides, and Crowley backpedalled fast. Before Kinch even reached them, Crowley was already back inside his own barracks. After a quick glance to make sure Crowley was gone, Kinch ignored him and focussed on Newkirk.

Newkirk was staring at the ground stubbornly, prepared for the reprimand he was sure he was about to get. Kinch walked right up to him, taking Crowley's place in front of his face. The Englishman didn't look up, he simply gritted his teeth. To his surprise, however, Kinch only sighed.

"You sure know how to pick them don't you?" Kinch commented drily, "He must have what, 75 pounds on you?"

The corner of Newkirk's mouth lifted wryly.

"Closer to 100 I reckon," he replied.

Kinch gave him a small smile and placed a hand on his shoulder.

"Look," Kinch spoke carefully, knowing he was walking on eggshells with what he had to say, "I don't want to give you a speech, kay?"

Newkirk gave him a wary glance, and Kinch faltered a little. He knew that Hogan relied on him, but he hated having to discipline his friends. Especially when they were doing something that he wasn't far from doing himself. He pressed on though.

"But the thing is, I get that you need to cool off. We're all stressed right now. Just remember that Colonel Hogan has enough on his mind about Carter without having to worry about you decking Crowley."

Newkirk smiled at the appeal to his competitive side, though he suspected that Crowley would have been the one doing most of the decking. But he also recognized sense when he heard it. Kinch was right, he needed to control his temper. The others were worried about Carter to, and he didn't need to cause any more trouble for them.

"Sorry Kinch," he sighed, "It's just that Carter's never been caught before, and he's- well, he's Carter."

Kinch knew what he meant. Carter was so young and innocent almost, rare things in a war like this. Whatever had happened to him, he didn't deserve it.

"I wish it'd been me," Newkirk said softly.

Kinch nodded in solemn agreement. Any of them would have switched places, all of the men had a protective streak a mile wide when it came to Carter.

He clapped Newkirk on the bunk.

"You're a good man Peter," he said, "He'll be alright."

"I wish I could believe that," Newkirk replied bitterly.

"Then you should. Come on, let's go see what LeBeau is cooking."

The two men walked back to the barracks in silence, absorbed in their thoughts. Both of them, despite their best efforts, couldn't help but picture all the awful things that might be happening to their friend right now. And neither could escape the feeling of utter helplessness that went with it.

When they entered the barracks, Newkirk flopped down at the table. He pulled out a pack of cards and dealt himself a game of solitaire. It wasn't in him to challenge someone to a game of gin, not when his regular partner was missing.

Kinch, however, knocked at the Colonel's door. Hogan would want to know about Newkirk, and Kinch wanted to check on his commanding officer. He knew Hogan blamed himself for Carter's disappearance, and that the Colonel would be beating himself up for it right now. Even though he was only a sergeant, he knew that he was one of the only men in camp that the Colonel confided in. It wasn't as if Hogan had another officer around to talk with, at least, if you didn't count Klink. And seeing as the very idea of Hogan confiding in Klink was laughable, then Kinch was the next best thing.

After hearing a quiet invitation to enter, Kinch slipped through the doorway. Hogan was sitting at his desk, head in his hands, obviously wracking his brains desperately. But he looked up when Kinch entered, and turned to face the other man.

"Who'd he throw punches at this time?" Hogan asked wearily.

"Crowley."

"Crowley?" Hogan nearly spluttered, "The man's a giant! Is he insane?"

"Most likely," Kinch grinned wryly, "But neither actually threw any punches. Came pretty close to it though. I didn't get to hear what he said to rile him up, but it probably didn't take much. Crowley's a bit touchy."

"That and Newkirk has a way of getting on people's nerves pretty quick when he wants to," Hogan sighed, "I don't know what to do about him. I understand he's frustrated, but if he starts causing trouble Klink'll throw him in the cooler in two seconds flat."

"I wouldn't worry about it sir," Kinch moved to lean up against the desk, "I talked with him a bit, and he promised to at least try and keep a cool head."

Hogan looked a little surprised.

"Well, I suppose that's all that can be expected. Thanks Kinch."

Hogan leaned back on his stool, running his hand through his hair.

"I should have done it though. I'm responsible for all the men. I should be there for them, especially at a time like this. Instead I sit in here, trying to figure out how someone disappears in the middle of Germany on the easiest assignment ever without leaving a single trace!"

He accentuated the last word by bringing his hand down sharply on the desk.

"Don't worry about it sir," Kinch said soothingly, "The men understand, and they're glad you're trying to figure out a way to help Carter. And they know you're stressed, because they're stressed to."

"Thanks Kinch," Hogan nodded, "You're right, but I just wish I was actually doing something. We have nothing, absolutely nothing, to go on. Basically we're waiting for a lucky break. A very lucky-"

"Colonel!" Kinch suddenly interrupted Hogan's monologue, something in the office had caught his eye.

"What?" Hogan turned to see what Kinch was looking at, and he spotted it to.

The red light on the coffee pot was blinking; Klink was getting a phone call.

"Plug it in Kinch."

He didn't need to be told twice. In only a few moments, Klink's voice filled the room.

"Stalag 13, Kommandant Klink speaking."

"Colonel Klink? This is Major Kuhns, Gestapo."

"Get the others in here," Hogan whispered to Kinch.

He returned seconds later with LeBeau and Newkirk in tow.

"What can I do for you Major?"

"I have a prisoner here who has been undergoing intensive interrogation for the past few days. We picked him up in the woods acting suspiciously, and he was suspected of espionage. However, we uncovered that he is in fact one of your prisoners."

"One of my prisoners? A spy?"

"Nein, it would seem that he was only attempting escape after all. We will be sending him back to you this afternoon."

"Come on Klink, ask for a name. A name!" Hogan said under his breath as all four men held their breath in anticipation.

"Ah, which prisoner is this exactly Major?"

"Hmmm..."

They could hear the shuffling of papers in the background, the atmosphere in the office was that quiet and tense.

"Ah yes. Sergeant Andrew Carter. United States Army Air Force."

Kinch unplugged the coffee pot. The men exchanged glances that were half-relieved, half-fearful.

Carter was alive. But what kind of condition would he be in when he got back?


End file.
